I don't really know what I want to say here

but I need to say something.  Things have been going on and I just haven't known where to start to get it all out into a post.  It began with a phone call last Thursday.  My Grannie (nearly 98 years old) was in hospital after a fall which resulted in a brain bleed, and she wasn't expected to last long.  So I went to the hospital straight away and sat with her, with my mum and my aunt, and later my dad.   She was looking pretty vegetable-like.  I was so glad that the last time I had seen her I'd said a proper good-bye.  

Last week I also found out that my friend's Auntie had had a stroke.  By chance this Auntie was also on the same floor as Grannie.  I sat with her that Thursday night as well.   Auntie Coll had been in and out of consciousness, and when she was conscious was showing signs of improvement, so her family were hopeful.   I visited them both the next day.   Grannie had improved, and Auntie Coll was more alert than the day before.   She was so interested in Abigail, and kept reaching out to touch her.  

Then Grannie stabilised and was shipped out to a rest home hospital.   Where she now lies resplendent in her best nightie sipping tea out of a straw, asking me whether I came in "the back door or the front door."   Next to a woman who has her own bedroom furniture, covered with old photographs.  I could hear from adjoining rooms both lucid, animated conversation, and strange groans and babbling noises.

Then Auntie Coll deteriorated.  She had another stroke, and slipped back into a coma.   The woman who looked so well and full of life (71 is young when you know a 71 year old) and was obviously trying so hard to come back to her loved ones, was gone again.  Then on Thursday afternoon, after the most impressive thunderstorm, she passed away.

So what could I have written here?  That I have been thinking all week about death?   That everyday my thoughts have been with two women living on the edge of existence?  Who wants to read posts like that, really, when the sun is shining and the cicadas are out.... 

But one day it will be me, and if I'm lucky I'll be 71... or maybe even 98.  I'll probably be the one making strange babbling noises down the hall.  You'll come visit, won't you? ;)

A photo

Me and the girls were just looking at my twitter page... and they asked me about the photo I have as my avatar.  (See it here.) 
Isobella:  "Is that you at Grannie's bach with Abigail?"
Me:  "No, that's you when you were a baby."
Greer:  "Where was I?"
Me:  "You weren't even in my tummy, you weren't born yet."
Isobella:  "God was making you."
Me:  "Good answer."

PS.  If you follow me on twitter I will be tweeting when I put a new post up... if you are that way inclined.  www.twitter.com/MsMunnn

PPS.  I'm still taking calendar pictures, remember? I have a couple, (literally) and as soon as I get one or two more I'll share...  Go on, take a picture while it's still January and send it to me at idoyamunn@yahoo.com.

My Favourite Place

We spent the first week of the year at my favourite place - Great Barrier Island.  A group of us went to Orama Christian Community in Karaka Bay, near Port Fitzroy.  Orama is used like a camp, in conjunction with OPC (Outdoor Pursuits Centre), but once it was a fully-fledged community with over a hundred people living there.  I've been there once before, two years ago.  Paddy had to work, so I went with Ella and Greer.  It was a mission, but so worth it.  I found a haven - an incredibly beautiful, wild, remote place, full of history, a place on the edge, a "thin place" in the celtic vernacular.  I fell in love with it, so to go there again all of us together was amazing.

The group we were with was there partly for a holiday and partly to learn.  We were a mixed group of ages and backgrounds, brought together by an interest in the story of New Zealand, using the Huia as a metaphor for our journey of discovery. (More about that to come.) We were there to share perspectives and ideas, and maybe even collectively hear what God might have to say about our country.  (Yeah, I know, Christians are weird like that!!)  We heard from Keith Newman, author of Ratana: The Prophet, Alastair Reese, who holds postgraduate degrees in History, Maori Culture, and Theology, and who has written this dissertation on the alienation of Maori land, Cindy Ruakere, and Brad Haami, author of True Red.

The book I'm working on is partly historical, so it was just the inspiration I needed.

The girls had such a good time.   There was plenty for them to do, and lots of kids around to play with.   At dusk and when it was quiet wild rabbits came out from the bushes by our rooms and they loved watching them.  (Good entertainment for the kids but not so good for the vegetation...) The building we stayed in was at the back of Orama, looking up to the bush and hills behind, and right beside a creek.  We slept listening to the trickling of water.  It was perfectly peaceful.

It is a wonderful thing to have found a place that connects with somewhere deep inside of me.  A place where I feel completely at rest, completely at home, and at the same time completely alive and envigorated.   Where I feel so grounded, so connected to the land and to the past, and yet as if I am standing on the threshold of my future.  Words don't do it justice.

I do have one other place that feels almost as good as that - Raglan.  My mum's family is from there, and it's the setting of my book.  So maybe I should be honest and say I have two favourite places.  I like the maori idea of having a turangawaewae, a standing place.  The best explanation I could find of it was here.  "Tūrangawaewae are places where we feel especially empowered and connected. They are our foundation, our place in the world, our home."  Maybe my turangawaewae, in a physical land sense, can be two places, maybe I have one foot on Great Barrier, at Orama, and the other on the shore of Raglan Harbour.

Do you have a favourite place?  Where is your turangawaewae?  Tell me...

Today

Today I sort-of cleaned the house

I sort-of tidied it too

the kids were sort-of happy

baby slept, sort of

we ate a sort-of lunch

the shopping got done

minus onions

so it was a sort-of dinner

I sort-of watered the garden

and sort-of folded the washing

and then I sat down and wrote this sort-of poem

happening around here - Christmas

     

 

 

 

 

Welcome to the New Year

I've just put up our 2010 Calendar.  This is the first year I've bought a calendar before January 1st.  It's a nice calendar.  Very white.  No dog-eared corners.  And blank.  Full of possibility.  It makes me very happy to see it up there on the wall.  Happy partly I guess because happy is how I feel about 2009.  I've said good-bye to a very good year.  The hardest, yes, in some ways, but also the best.  I had a word for 2009 (cheesy I know but I got the idea here.)  My word for 2009 was hope.  It was the perfect word, and it served me very well.  So when I said good-bye to 2009 last night I did it gratefully.

Then my thoughts went straight to 2010.   What do I want for this year?  What is it that I want more than anything else?   The answer is easy.   To explain it I need to take you back to 2009... and hope.   You see in all the things I had hope for the thing I hoped for most was a book.  The one I am trying to write.  You've probably heard me mention it every now and then, over the last few years.  It hasn't got very far, but it hasn't gone away.  And the harder it has been to find time to write the more I have wanted to do it.   To the point now where I want it terribly.  I want to write a real book.  One that sits on the shelf in libraries, is bought in bookshops, is read.  I'm putting myself out there telling you.  I won't be getting much more heart-on-my-sleeve than this.  But I am quietly, shyly, confident.

Enter 2010.  A year that looks surprisingly different now that we are not homeschooling.  I have time.   One whole day a week - Thursdays - when Greer is at kindy, Ella's at school and it's just me and Abigail at home.  No prizes for guessing what I'll be doing on Thursdays!  The thought of a whole day to write is intoxicating. 

As far as a word for 2010 goes, I've got a few ideas going around.  I'm looking for something like hope-becoming-real, or hope with legs on! :-)  Something that reflects the hopeful determination I feel for this year, to just get on and do what I've been longing to do for so long.  

And you, my dear family and friends, if you had a word for 2010 what would it be?  Go on, think about it... humour me!

A Christmas Wish for You

Kissing the Face of God

by Morgan Weistling

I've been thinking a bit about Advent as this month has sped by.  I've been reading about how other families manage to make Christmas a meaningful season, not just one intense day.  I've been thinking about seasons and how we have lost our connection with them in many ways.  I wanted to somehow bring together these thoughts and start making Christmas more reflective, more evenly paced, and less shopping mall-fueled.  Well, I guess good ideas have to start somewhere, small.  We've had a few lovely moments with the girls, started a couple of new traditions in a very haphazard way... but my hope that this Christmas would be different has been largely overtaken by the realities of tiredness, busy-ness and the ordinary stuff of life.  Right now I'm very tired after staying up too late wrapping presents and being woken up too early by small people.   My focus for today and tomorrow is on lists. 

But at the same time there is part of me that is still hopeful for next Christmas, (at least we get opportunities for improvement!) and is relishing the chance right now to reflect on all of this. And I realise as I write that in this one moment, in a small way, I am doing what I wanted to do all along.  

So my wish for you is that you get a moment like this for yourself.  A moment when you realise you are doing what you most wanted to do this Christmas.   When that moment comes, savour it.   Remember it.  And take it with you into the New Year.  Take it with you through into 2010 and let it make its mark on your plans, your dreams, your lists.  That way Christmas isn't just one day.... 

Take care and enjoy Christmas.  Thanks for your friendship and support... and thanks for reading!

happening around here

Remembering Don

Three years ago today my step-dad Don passed away. It seems such a long time ago, yet it feels as if it happened yesterday. Greer was a baby when he died, and now there are two more grandchildren he hasn't met. So much has happened, and so much has changed, yet I can imagine him walking in here now and I know exactly how he would look, what he would be wearing, and how he would be carrying himself, as if I'd only just seen him last week. I wanted to write this post about him, to honour him and remember him. But I can't do any better than what I wrote two days after he died, and read at his funeral, so these are my words.

December 19 2006:
About two years ago I had a dream. I saw Don running, wearing a singlet and a number on his chest, and I saw him run through the finish line, with his arms raised high and the biggest smile on his face. And I woke up crying, I cried and cried. I woke up pat and told him, crying. “Ring him” he said, so I did. “Don I just want you to know I love you” I said, crying. The poor man he would have wondered what on earth I was going on about. “Yes dear, I know dear” he said, and I could hear him smiling.

That dream never left me and the next day I was thinking about it and I suddenly thought, Don has finished his race! He’s done it! And I thought, maybe his race was to see me and Joy grow up, to be the man in our lives that would help us get ready for our lovely men to come. What if that was his race – to be our first man, and mum’s darling husband! He put up with our teenage selfishness and moodiness, and he made friends with us. Bought us KFC and doughnuts and got out videos for us to watch, he delighted in buying us new clothes and anything else we needed. He shared his music to us. I”ll never forget the time we were driving down to Tauranga, listening to music, taking turns to choose what tape we played, all singing along to a combination of the carpenters, petula clark and rick astley! There were so many things about Don that were strange and unfamiliar to us, but it was amazing how quickly he became so dear to us. By the time he had his second heart attack three years after we got married, I realised just how much I loved him. He was in my heart.

Then the next day after the dream I was talking to pat about it. “You know what I think?” he said “Maybe that means right now Don’s on his victory lap!” And I thought, maybe he is. And now that he’s gone, I really do. I think the last few years for Don were one wonderful victory lap.

And our precious kids, his most treasured grandchildren, they made it a victory lap. Right from the moment they were born he loved and adored them. They lit up his face. Joy and Dan lived with mum and Don for a year, and Anna got to have so many wonderful outings and adventures with Grandad. Anna and Isaac, Ella and Greer, Grandad loved you so so much. He is “Gandad” to Anna, and “Gwandwad” to ella. And they loved him, will always love him.

Don, if you could hear me, I would tell you how grateful I am for your love. Your faithful, constant, dependable love has made me who I am in so many ways. You opened your heart to me at the most difficult stage of my life, you never pushed me away, you never got angry with me, you always made it clear when I had annoyed or frustrated you, but you never held a grudge against me. You always gave me a second chance, you always thought the best of me. I know you were proud of me. And the funny thing is, that in letting you be a dad to me, I have learnt how to have a dad, and how to be a daughter, not just to you, but to my Rog, and for that I can never thank you enough. I may not have said these things before, but I never saw them as clearly as I do now. Watching you go early on Sunday morning, as the sun had just started to rise, has changed me. I see things I could never see before. We watched you take your last breath, and then in the moment you went, we looked out the window to your tenth floor view and saw the lights of the city, shining pin pricks in the darkness, and Lake Pupuke a glinting blue-gold mirror in the sun’s very first ray. It was like I was seeing a new city, in a completely different land. It was beautiful beyond words.

And this is what I think you saw. At 5:25, according to your watch, I think a man with a vaguely familiar face came into hospital room and tapped you on the shoulder. “Would you like to come for a walk with me?” I think he said. You thought about it for a second, and then you said “yeah ok, yep, that’d be lovely.” And together you walked, you so tall and strong and well, striding down the stairs and out towards the lake, away from sickness, and sadness, traffic and deadlines, lawns to mow and windows that need washing, into the glinting blue-gold of a new day.

And the empty space you have left in our hearts is enormous. We haven’t even begun to measure it, to chart its depths and its lows. But would we ever have chosen not to have you, to save us the pain of this loss? No. Not ever. Because even in going you have given us something. Your love lives on in us, and we will spend the rest of our lives so thankful, so grateful to have had you and loved you. You were one in a million.

Allie's Dream

Today I saw a dream come true. Eight years ago my dear friend Allie left a comfortable administration job to re-train as a dance teacher. It wasn't the easiest or most obvious thing to do, but she did it. A dream had captured her heart; to open up the world of dance to young people with special needs. Kids who wouldn't normally get to dance. And that's what she set out to do.

She now teaches dance in special schools and runs after-school dance classes for special needs kids. Today was her first ever end-of-year performance. A real show, in a theatre, on a stage, with lighting, sound, and costumes. A two hour show involving 30 students of various abilities. I wish I'd had my camera, but I didn't, so I'll tell you what I saw.

A little girl who inched her way to the front of the stage and couldn't stop smiling and waving to her family everytime she was on... and it was no ordinary smile... her whole face smiled.

A young man who captured the audience whenever he was on stage, who danced like he was born to dance, as if there was nothing else he'd rather be doing in the world, and who made us forget that every move was done with a huge amount of concentration and effort.

A girl who danced like a firecracker, who fizzed and sparkled and glowed. And never stopped smiling, an infectious smile full of the joy of being her.

Kids who may not have been able to run or climb easily, but who could move instinctively to the music, who could understand the story in the words, and who loved showing us that story with their arms, their hands, their fingers.

But more than anything, kids who in dancing found themselves, who were happy to be themselves, who in that moment were so happy to be in their own skin.

And I saw a friend in her element, living out what was in her heart. A friend whose dream had come true. Who in that moment was so happy to be in her own skin.

I want that moment for myself. I want to live out what's in my heart, I want to see my dreams come true. I want to be completely happy to be in my own skin. Don't you?

The Balloon

Greer loves balloons. She got given a beautiful blue one at the beginning of the week. On Monday she took it onto the deck. "Don't bring your balloon outside Greer, or it will blow away," we said. "Ok" said Greer, and she turned to walk back inside. Then suddenly she lifted up her arms and tossed it into the air. And then it was done. The balloon was gone. Tears and sobs.

So we told stories. Your balloon has gone on an adventure Greer. It has floated way up high into the clouds and now it's flying. That balloon is saying hello the birds. It might even be going to places you've never seen. Like other cities, other contries even. Suddenly we were all caught up in the wonder of this adventuring balloon. Oh the limitless possibilites! Except for Greer. Greer was simply distraught. So we changed the story. Your balloon might come back to see you Greer. It might come back at the end of it's journey to tell you everything it saw and did. Well.... it was a nice idea.

Then came Tuesday. Me and Greer were taking out the recycling. Which turned into a little bit of weeding. Which turned into a bit more weeding. Then suddenly I spied something blue in the corner of the garden! The balloon!!!!!!! What rejoicing there was. And ofcourse, we took a photo.

I was smiling inside for a long time after that. I could hardly believe it myself. Did our story come true? Did that balloon go travelling and then come home? Our prodigal balloon? Probably not. But it was a lovely thought.

I kept thinking about balloons. How magical they are, really. We can project onto them all our wanderlust and hankerings for other worlds. Our deepest longings for flight, and escape even. And it makes me very happy to think that in this age of technology, a three-year old still loves balloons.

Rain comes, two weeks later

I think I should tell you that finally two weeks after I asked myself the question here, I found the answer. I was thirsty, tired, and inside there was a tiny place inside of me that was struggling to live. Until I picked up my journal and a pen and started writing. And then it poured. How is it that we forget the things most important to us so easily?

Overheard after breakfast

Greer: "Ella do you remember when God came over?"
Ella: "What?"
Greer: "Last night. God came over. He was playing with us."
Ella: "That's no real. It must have been a dream."
Greer: "Yes."
Me: "What did you play?"
Greer: "Hidey-go-seek. I was hiding and then he found me. And then he found Abigail. And then he found you Ella."
(Said with the sweetest smile on her face.)
Then Greer bends over and looks at something behind the kitchen island.
Ella: "Greer are you looking for God?"
Greer: "No, Jesus."

!!!!!

happening around here

School: Week 1

"I love School. I'm having fun and I've got friends. My friends' names are Mercy, Tiffany, Sana and Tyler. I like playtime."

There you have it - the official word!!!!!

PS. I've changed the settings so that you don't have to join up to make a comment - so feel free :)

Good for the Garden

Yesterday we finally planted a whole lot of plants and shrubs in our front garden bed. It has been waiting all year for attention. The soil is nothing more than clay, so Paddy watered it carefully last night after he had finished. We were going to water it again this morning, but it was raining, and since then it has been raining lightly on and off all day. We keep saying "isn't this good for the garden," just like I remember my mum saying when I was a kid!

I didn't understand it at the time. I had no idea how much work having a garden can take, how much moisture it requires, and what a treasure it is when the rain does the watering for you. But even more than that, I had no idea that gentle rain over a long period of time is exactly what a garden needs. I never could have imagined how good that "good for the garden" rain really was. Until now. Now when I watch the rain falling on what would otherwise be dry, cakey clay, I smile. It makes me think about how precious water is, and how vital it is to life. Those plants will not survive without it, even though we've planted them in with fertiliser and garden mix. It is water that makes it all happen.

It got me thinking.... what is the water in my life, metaphorically speaking? What is the one thing that I can't live without? And am I getting enough of it?

ps. I took some poetic licence with the picture... that's our back garden - the vegie patch :)

Empty Nest Syndrome Here

I've been Homeschooling ella since March. Homeschooling wasn't something I ever planned or even imagined I'd end up doing. In fact, I once said quite emphatically to a friend that I could never do it. But a year ago it came into my brain almost from out of nowhere, and I couldn't get rid of it. And the more I thought about it, and the more I read about it, the more I liked the idea. We talked a lot about it, and ended up deciding to give it a go. Kids don't have to be enrolled in school until they are six, so you kind of get a "free hit" before you have to apply to the Ministry for exemption from school. We thought we'd give the year a go, and then decide before she turned six what we'd do from there.

I was captured by a dream - of a family life where time together is not ruled by school hours, where holidays can be taken whenever, where learning happens organically - with the world as its resource room - the museum, the library, the zoo, the bush, the internet, family and friends, and all the good fun and exploring that happens when you hang out at home. But mostly I loved the idea of learning alongside her, and exploring the world together. And for 8 months that has been our life, more or less. Homeschooling was pretty much everything I hoped it would be. Basically, it made me happy. As cheesy as this sounds, it made me the mother I'd always wanted to be. And as far as ella was concerned, homeschooling was great. She was happy to learn with me, and would tell everyone from the dairy shop-keeper to the lady at the library that we were homeschooling. She loved the homeschooling classes we did, and the other families we met. And she got to do plenty of playing.

Then two weeks ago I decided we should start talking about next year. I thought I already knew what I wanted to do - continue homeschooling. But I found myself saying that we should be open minded in our decision, and look at some schools other than the ones we had looked at originally. And from there I found that suddenly I couldn't get school out of my head. Just as homeschooling had come from out of nowhere, suddenly School was doing the same thing. I found myself talking to ella about the idea of going to school, and although at first she said she wanted to keep homeschooling, pretty quickly she got quite excited about the idea of school. And I realised that if ella went to school, I would suddenly have the opportunity to have time alone. And I knew just what I would do with that time.

So Isobella is starting school on Monday. She is more than excited. As far as she is concerned, Monday can't come soon enough. I'm happy for her. But I'm also in complete shock at what I've done, and how quickly it has happened. I've cried a lot. You see, I think there are two women inside of me. One of them would be quite happy to be surrounded by her chaotic brood all day. The other one, the quiet one who doesn't ask for much, is craving an empty house. Right now I'm torn between them both, and wishing I could make them both happy at the same time. Maybe I can?

My Dream is to Wake Up

My dream is to wake up with nobody else in the house
except me
and the light switches which go on and off at my bidding
and the toaster which toasts when I need it to, for my delight
and does not require keeping quiet while it sleeps
or feeding it, or taking it to the toilet.
None of these things are required by nobody else.

If there is nobody else in the house
I can have a bath, run it and get into it without any lifting,
without the taking off of clothes, other than my own, which I do without thinking
and I can sit there without washing anybody’s feet, other than my own
which is, exactly, a pleasure.
And when I get out of the bath, with nobody else in the house,
I find that the blinds do not talk back to me when I open and shut them
Indeed,
They sit at exactly the precise angle I require of them, without complaining!
And the table too, supports my cup and these hands all on its own,
The very task I require of it, without any murmur it all.
I don’t even have to ask.

Oh the joy of a house inhabited by nobody else,
An empty house, just me and the things I need,
Things that in this moment exist only for me.

Whole worlds could exist, whole other lives could be begun and carried out completely
Here, in all this space, with so much time
And oh the quiet – can you hear it?

Introducing my First Guest Post - Isobella - "My Things"

These are pictures of my things. The first one is a picture of my dog Rosie and all her puppies. She has 8 puppies. The second photo is me on my bed. Beside me is a poster with a iguana on it. The third photo is a picture of the poster. It is a reptile. I got it from Auckland Zoo. I took the photos but I didn't take the photo with me on my bed. My bed is soft like my baby blankie I had when I was a baby.

Another Guest: Chanelling Abigail

Things are good at the moment, I think it's fair to say. I'm generally "up" these days. Sometimes the people here get busy and the service is slow, but I can work with that. I've got some good things going on so I'm fairly busy myself. Everyone knows I'm good for a laugh. My crew like to call me "Abigiggle" and I'm down with that. It represents me pretty well. I've got a couple of good spots where if you get it right, I'm in hysterics. The people seem to think that's hilarious, so it's laughs all round over here sometimes.

I do talk a fair bit as well, as you may know. You might think I like the sound of my own voice. I get quite a range out of it, you could say I'm experimental. It's something I do spend quite a lot of time on. And content's not an issue, with everything I've got going on at the moment. Take these two front teeth, just popping through. I'm very happy with how they are coming along. Nicely placed, small but sharp. It's partly because of them I had a word to mum about what she was feeding me. I mean, the breast milk is great and everything but I was ready for the hard stuff. Finally mum got the message and started putting baby rice on the menu. I'm happy about that. One of the best times of the day as far as I'm concerned is when I can see a spoon in front of me. It's not surprising though, with all the work I do. I'm really trying to bulk up at the moment.

I did try to get mum to do milk in the bottle, we had a go and I thought the results were impressive, but Mum's old school. I'd love the independence, honestly. I could grab a bottle and head out the door when I'm off to training, great. In truth, I think mum's finding it hard to individuate. She doesn't seem to do much without me. But you get with your mother as trainer. At some point i might start looking around to see who else is out there, but for now she's doing a pretty good job.